Pokers, Swords and Lifetimers
by duchess-susan
Summary: Susan meets Teatime again, because of Death's good intentions. Then the Afterlife gets involved.
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own the Discworld or any of its characters except the Afterlife and his Afterlifetimers, which will appear about chapter 4. Thank She Who Shines and Purplepeanutbutter for the inspiration for this fanfic.**

Susan had returned to Death's Domain. Grandfather had invited her and she couldn't bring herself to say no, if only out of pity. He tried so _hard _to be human...

There was always a huge flaw in his efforts.

***

Susan, Death and Albert were gathered in the kitchen. She had the suspicion that Albert shouldn't be privy to the ensuing conversation but knew that he would not allow himself to be dismissed from the kitchen, which he deemed, with concrete certainty, his territory. You could tell-unlike the rest of Death's house it had a patina of grime so insinuated into the room it would be impossible to remove. It reflected Albert in that respect.

HELLO SUSAN.

'Hello Grandfather.' She tried to be polite as she asked 'was there anything in particular that you wished to talk about. Only I'm quite busy marking...'

TIME IS NEVER AN ISSUE. NOT FOR ME.

'Yes I've noticed.' Mentally she added but I want to be normal and treating time as an adjustable option is not normal.

For a moment Death appeared to hesitate, apparently on the cusp of broaching and bewildering and entirely new subject, and rather nervous about the whole enterprise.

AND I HAVE ALSO NOTICED, SUSAN, THAT WOMEN OF YOUR AGE...BEHAVE IN A CERTAIN WAY.

Inwardly Susan groaned, As her only living (and she used the term aware fully aware of the paradox) relative Death appeared to have taken on the responsibility of the Courting Talk. Several years too late. She wondered if embarrassment had decided to pay special attention to those few seconds, as the levels of it in several parties certainly exceeded any previously harboured by anyone else. It was a new world record.

'Grandfather I know, okay? So we can kill this conversation _right _now.' She never got desperate, but she was certainly _very _keen for this topic of conversation to go away.

AH. Death looked around the room. ALBERT, THERE IS SOME GARDENING TO BE DONE, I BELIEVE.

'But...'

GO ALBERT.

'Right you are, master.'

Albert left, muttering under his breath, as all put upon servants are inclined to do.

After another awkward silence Death spoke again.

TEATIME, SUSAN. MR TEATIME. A CONSIDERABLY ODD MAN. POSSESSED OF A UNIQUE WORLD VIEW, I THOUGHT-

'Where is this going?' Susan demanded. She did not want to have to consider that assassin. Not only had he tried to kill her, Death (attempted morticide!) and endangered the children he defied physics and that was _illogical. _Susan hated things that defied logic.

Death attempted to look embarrassed but when that didn't work he radiated awkwardness instead.

WELL...I WORRY THAT PERHAPS...GENETICS INTERFER. YOU WANT NORMALITY AND THAT MEANS NOT SUFFERING FOR YOUR INHERITANCE. AND I FEEL THE ONLY PERSON I HAVE EVER ENCOUNTERED CAPABLE OF DEALING WITH YOUR HERITAGE WAS JONATHON TEATIME.

'He was twisted!'

IN THE RIGHT WAY. IN HIS OWN WAY HE MAY EVEN HAVE BEEN SANE. UNLIKELY BUT NOT IMPOSSIBLE.

'No, sanity is not a matter of opinion.'

Death just looked at her. OF COURSE IT IS. An hourglass appeared in his hand. The name carved into the black wood was Jonathon Teatime.

'Anyway he is _dead. _I _killed _him. With a _poker.'_

I WAS THERE. THE POKER HAD TO GO THROUGH _ME_ FIRST. I WAS RATHER UPSET THAT YOU THREW IT AT ME SUSAN. WHAT IF I HADN'T BEEN PAYING ATTENTION? YOU COULD HAVE BROKEN A RIB. HOW EMBARRASSING WOULD THAT HAVE BEEN? SWINGING THE SCYTHE AND HAVING A RIB FALL OFF. OR HAVING IT WIRED BACK ON. HARDLY DIGNIFIED. He seemed to remember himself. TIMERS CAN BE REVERSED. And with that Death flipped the hourglass.

'Grandfather!'

GRANDPARENTS ARE SUPPOSED TO IGNORE RULES FOR THEIR GRANDCHILDREN, TO MAKE THEM HAPPY.

'Not like this they're not! Not when the rules are the rules of the _universe.'_

Death stalked off. ENJOY YOURSELVES. He might even have chuckled quietly.

Susan noted the plural and turned around. Smiling at her was a young assassin with mismatched eyes that tainted his boyish good looks.

'Hello Susan. Where's the poker?'


	2. Chapter 2

'Hello Susan. Where's the poker?'

'You're dead,' she said flatly. This was evidently Grandfather's revenge for the poker. It was ridiculous. She could hardly have killed him, could she? But apparently he had combined his naturally dark sense of humour with the human trait of retribution he must have learnt. At least Susan hoped that was it. She really didn't want to believe her Grandfather thought she could strike up some kind of..._relationship_ with Teatime.

'Apparently not, though if I'm not mistaken I am in Death's Domain.' He was looking around with interest. 'So many lifetimers, so much time.'

'Do you even realise why you're here?' She couldn't believe he was acting in what counted, for him, as normally. Well actually she could. She had heard the wistful note in his voice and just knew that he was wondering how many of the lifetimers he could be personally responsible for stopping. She also knew the answer, incredibly, was probably all of them. If ever there was a man in love with death if was Teatime. The trouble was he only loved him when he owned it, and not when it owned him.

He fixed on her an unwavering gaze that would reduce anyone unrelated to Death to mindless panic. Whilst it was not particularly malicious it quite clearly implied that Teatime was seeing you dead and preferring it. By a wide margin. But this was Susan. She glared back. He smiled.

'I believe, although I could be mistaken, that Death decided to revive me-only he could do it after all-for purposes best known to himself, but definitely relating to you. It's only logical.'

Susan's glare intensified. She didn't like such evidence of intelligence being produced by Teatime. Especially not as he had the nerve to use logic at her. _Him. _Who only understood logic so well so as he could find loopholes.

She wished a poker was close to hand. Or even a kettle. Something metallic at any rate. The only good thing about his return was a fresh opportunity to use household items against him. Fireside equipment had never looked so useful, or attractively blunt.

'You're not going to kill me again are you Susan? I'd hate for you to do something that might endanger our friendship.'

'And the poker didn't?'

He shrugged. 'That seems such a long time ago. A whole lifetime really.'

'For you it might have been. For me it's not been so long.' Susan's short temper was already fraying. She turned and strode off in the direction of Death's study. She was _not _putting up with this. Who on earth would actually encourage their granddaughter to consort with assassins? _Undead_ assassins. _Crazy_ undead assassins.


	3. Chapter 3

**Very short chapter, so sorry about that. Susan gets grumpy and Death tries to explain himself (kind of.)**

Death was slightly unsure of how to react when Susan burst into his study, throwing the door back with a dramatic flourish that would make a diva weep with envy, though he assumed this was unintentional. Susan was not the type for wasting energy on theatre.

AH. SUSAN. I THOUGHT THAT PERHAPS-

'Perhaps what? That I would stay with Teatime back there?' She was too enraged to realise that Teatime was alone in Death's house, not a particularly desirable situation. 'What were you thinking, Grandfather?'

I DIDN'T WANT YOU TO BE LONELY. NOT JUST BECAUSE OF WHO YOUR FAMILY IS.

Susan stared in amazement at Death, sitting in his worn old chair at the huge desk.

'You're trying to be human again, aren't you?'

NO. DEFINATELY NOT. I JUST WANTED YOU TO BE HUMAN. TO BE NORMAL. TO BE COURTED BY AN ATTRACTIVE IF SOMEWHAT STRANGE YOUNG MAN THAT I COULD DISAPPROVE OF, AND TELL YOU WAS A BAD INFLUENCE.

'But...Teatime. I mean disapproval, yes, anyone in their right mind would disapprove of him, he's completely bursar. But courting? NO. Look I realise you are doing your best but I can certainly find myself any number of strange young men!'

NOT ANY THAT WILL ACCEPT _YOU. _NOT THE PART OF YOU THAT IS ME. NOT THE PART THAT BELONGS IN THE HALL OF LIFETIMERS.

And then Susan realised. Teatime was alone with all those lifetimers...

She left the study in as much a hurry as she had entered.

Again Death was alone in his study.

I KNEW SHE WOULD SEE SENSE IN THE END. He tried to sound smug, but this is difficult in a voice of lead and omegas.


	4. Chapter 4

Susan sprinted down the corridor to the hall of lifetimers. She remembered the enchantment in his voice, the longing in his eyes, as he had seen all the hourglasses. She hoped nothing had happened. If he had influenced so much as a grain of sand she would cheerfully stab him with all the pokers on the Disc before moving on to the toasting forks. For now, however, her only weapon was Death's sword, which she had taken from the study.

She ripped the door open, revealing a room filled with a heavy and portentous silence. The whole of Death's house was slightly portentous, out of habit, but this was different, this was something more than background omenousness.

Teatime was standing in a circle of spinning lifetimers, floating around him deceptively fast.

They weren't normal lifetimers, she realised. The twin bulbs were of smoked glass and the frame holding the glass bulbs was of grey sand, that seemed somehow to form, in this particular case, a rigid structure. It was the sand of the desert shrouded in eternal gloom, Susan knew it instinctively. Names were inscribed on each timer, comprising of indistinct and illegible shallow grooves in the sand. Instead of sand each was filled with red light, which possessed a sullen glow and didn't move. At all. Not even a flicker betrayed the transport of light from one bulb to another. Susan found that the most chilling trait of the alien lifetimers. _After_lifetimers a small part of her mind not paralysed by shock or horror supplied.

Teatime didn't seem bothered. He tore his gaze away from them in order to say to her, 'they appeared after you left. I think they're just for me. I think I know these souls.' He frowned. 'I inhumed them.' He seemed as delighted as a child on Hogswatch Night.

'How can you know that?' She almost screamed, but her self-control reasserted itself and told her that the assassin didn't matter. All that mattered was that these afterlifetimers disappeared. Immediately. The part of her that was Death couldn't bare them, loathed them and despised their appearance her.

'I just do. An instinct perhaps. I'm right. I must be. The Assassins Guild never mentioned this, but I believe I have an appropriately elegant solution.' His elegant solution depended on the fact that, despite what people usually think, he knew from personal experience that Death and the Afterlife were two very different aspects of the universe and _really hated _each other. Apparently once, a long time ago when all of creation was new they had shared a sort of semi-detached property in a nice area beyond the known multiverse. But the Afterlife had been too noisy and many complaints had been made of the raucous parties that happened over there, at all aeons of eternity. This degenerated into a massive row, after which Death decided he was never going to reside in anything but a detached home, and the Afterlife decided he was damn well going to keep on partying as loudly as possible, just to be annoying. The echoes and harmonics of this row are the cause of most neighbours failing to get on and doing stupid, petty and cruel things involving garden implements.

THEY DON'T BELONG. The words escaped before Susan could stop them. The hourglasses span on.

Teatime bowed.

'For you then, Susan, I shall remove them.' He stared straight ahead, almost dreamily and darted forward before she could stop him. He snatched Death's sword from her and brought it round in an arc that passed through every last afterlifetimer's narrow pinch, precisely between the bulbs. For a single moment smoky shards danced and twirled together in the air, then the red light spilled out, blinding Susan. When she looked up again Teatime was standing, completely composed, looking thoughtful. This irritated Susan.

'Well done TEAtime' she snarled. 'Glad you managed to destroy those wretched things.' NOW GIVE ME THAT SWORD.

Teatime sighed. 'Susan, please. It is very rude to mispronounce my name so intentionally. It's Teh-ah-Tim-eh. And I shan't be surrendering the weapon until you say it right.'

Susan rolled her eyes.

'Okay then. Please would you pass me the sword Mr. Teh-a...

For a second Teatime really believed she would say his name right. Instead her left palm shot outwards towards his chin whilst the right lunged for the hilt of the sword.

He laughed as he caught her wrist and twisted it painfully, then jerked her towards to him, bringing the sword to her neck as he did so.

'Play nicely Susan.' He was whispering it in her ear. What amazed her was how much he could hurt her, and then how gently he could pull her close immediately afterwards. 'I would so hate for you to do something...unforgiveable.'

**Read and review. Please?**


	5. Chapter 5

Susan still had the sword nestling at her throat. She stamped downwards with her foot, trying to hit the assassin's instep but he just laughed again, somehow avoiding her foot and then jerking the sword just enough to cause a thin and very shallow cut, which wept a little blood. His lips were still only perhaps an inch from her left ear, so that he only had whisper the words, 'you're not thinking Susan. You know I can't be hurt as easily as that, and your attempt was really quite insulting. However, I shall forgive since you are so much _fun._'

That was it. Susan had had quite enough of all this. She now had proof that Teatime really was truly insane by anyone's standards. No one with a vestige of sanity would hurt Susan, simply because she was Susan. To go on to tease her afterwards was beyond suicidal. She was annoyed because he was right. She wasn't thinking she was just reacting, but then with Jonathan Teatime there was precious little time even for instincts, let alone consideration of the situation.

She arched her back so that she was pressing backwards into him. Guessing at the mental state of Teatime, considering his childish nature, she expected him to push her away in disgust or at least extreme discomfort. He didn't. Instead he twined the arm that wasn't holding the sword around her waist. Susan sighed. Just when his cracked, juvenile mind could have come in useful he lost the juvenile aspect. He could never lose the cracked part. He probably didn't want to.

'Fine then, Teatime.' This time, as he began to correct her ('Teh-ah...'), she slammed backwards with an elbow and, as he dodged effortlessly, knocked the sword away, twisted and thrust a fist into the assassin's grinning face. She smiled as blood trickled from his nose. This was a moment, she thought, worth preserving forever in her memory, to look at when she was miserable, for the sole purpose of cheering her up. For a second like that it was worth being Death's granddaughter. Reality-you can keep it. Vanquishing the smile from his face was the most satisfying thing she had ever done. As soon as this realisation came the thought occurred that something was slightly worrying about that. Actually slightly was the wrong word. Hugely was more appropriate.

He was only stunned for a second. As soon as he gathered in his senses he looked at her with a mixture of annoyance and subtle, cool glee.

'You really did just hit me didn't you Susan? I do have to congratulate you on that.' He saw her gaze flicker to the sword lying on the floor between them and sighed, exasperation colouring the exhalation. Susan swept down for it, but the next thing she knew Teatime was holding her against the door, so that the door handle bore into the small of her back. His knife was at her throat, it gleamed evilly in the light.

She wondered where the hells he had got his knife from, when he had only recently been revived and the knife certainly hadn't been in Death's Domain. She could only assume that it was as much a part of him as the arm that wielded it. From the way he used it, it could well be.

'How many times? Don't try anything...desperate.'

'Fine. Then do me a favour and tell me what those timers were and how on the Disc they appeared.'

Teatime looked rather bored. 'Do you ever listen? They were the new lifetimers of people I had inhumed. They just appeared after you left. They weren't interested in you, only me.' He seemed smug at all this supernatural attention.

'But people don't get any other lifetimers.' She tried valiantly to ignore the evidence of her own eyes and the traitorous little voice that still whispered _afterlifetimers. _'And would you please remove that knife from my throat.' It was making her nervous, and her hair was beginning to curl around it slightly suicidally.

'Of course. When you ask me, calling me by my name, and doing so correctly.'

Susan rolled her eyes. 'Take the knife away, Teh-ah Tim-eh.'

'Thank you.' Teatime bowed, concealing the knife somewhere on his person as he did so. 'You are Death's granddaughter, so you are bias on the subject of lifetimers, but I believe that you know, really, that there are other lifetimers.'

'Afterlifetimers' they both murmured the word together.

'They shouldn't have been here' Susan added, trying to gloss over the fact that they had shared a thought. She never wanted to think that perhaps her mind could run on the same twisted track as Teatime's, even if only for a few seconds.

'But they were. Perhaps, if you really want to know why they are here, you should discuss it with the Afterlife. They belong to him in the same way that these lifetimers,' he gestured to them with a graceful swoop of his arm, 'belong to Death. And if you should want to pursue the Afterlife in this matter then you may need me.'

'Why? I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, without some weird murderer hindering me.'

Teatime glared and said, gravely and sullenly, 'not a murderer. An assassin. There's a difference.' Susan was delighted to realise he was trying very hard not to kill her. 'My point is that I have experienced the Afterlife and you have not. You are in fact the granddaughter of the anthropomorphic personification he hates most.'

'Sorry? You're telling me that the Afterlife and Grandfather know each other?'

'Yes. There were some disputes, I believe, of a domestic nature. Anyway what do you think?' He proffered a hand. 'I could take you there Susan.' He was smiling all the more at the prospect of an adventure with an irate Susan. 'This is going to be _so much fun!' _

Susan sighed. 'Binky can go anywhere. I think he's a better mode of transport.' In reality Susan really didn't want to take Teatime's hand. She wasn't going to willingly put herself at Teatime's mercy.

'I don't think Binky will want to go there, and I know the way better. I didn't die yesterday, after all. Come _on _Susan.' He sounded like a child begging to be taken to the park.

He grabbed her arm and they vanished from the Hall of Lifetimers.


	6. Chapter 6

They were in a small, purple cave, with no discernable exit. It was just a tiny dome of deep purple, like a dark amethyst, the stone faceted, creating glittering points of light.

Susan immediately pulled away from Teatime, who was looking around with disdainful recognition.

'Where are we?' She demanded.

'We are in my afterlife.'

'Could you just try saying that again? And this time explain _exactly _why this cave gives you the impression that it's your afterlife. Because never, ever, have I heard it said that it looks like this, for anyone.'

'Well that's why everyone has the wrong idea about what happens after death. From the moment you die, you have your own personal afterlife. It's a bit like you having a death the moment you're born, really. Each one is tailored to it's person. This is mine.' He glared at her. 'As far as I can guess it's like this because all my life I was an outcast, so they decided to make it the same in the next life.' He seemed to be daring her to say anything.

The cave was empty, except for one metallic object in the corner. Susan picked it up and brandished it triumphantly. They had left Death's sword behind, but this was even better.

'Yes, I believe that may have been some kind of cosmic joke.' Teatime did not sound even slightly amused. 'Leave me alone in here and give me only the thing that killed me. Like they expected me to try to commit suicide with it or something equally ridiculous.'

'Take me back to Death's Domain RIGHT NOW or we will see how painful ridiculous acts can be.' Suicide will be the _nice _way out Susan thought. She felt so much better with the solid weight of the poker in hand.

Teatime seemed curious. 'After the incident with the afterlifetimers? You really want to let the Afterlife get away with that? Now we are here we may as well put that poker to good use.'

Ah, thought Susan, now we get to the bottom of it. Teatime is annoyed at how the Afterlife has treated him and he wants to use me for revenge...but those afterlifetimers _were _unforgiveable...maybe just this once me and him could...work together, just for the sake of bring pain to the Afterlife. Yes, I don't see why not. The poker was an undeniably effective weapon in her hands, after all. And those afterlifetimers had _really _upset her.

'So', she said, 'if we did want to see the Afterlife, how would we? I mean we _are _trapped in this place.'

Teatime grinned. 'Like this, I suppose.' He reached out into the empty air, producing an afterlifetimer. This one was very different to the others. Susan could only guess that the cause of the change was Teatime's revival, but his afterlifetimer was filled with blinding blue light, the frame of glass not sand and the name clearly engraved on it. There were no bulbs, the light just seemed to _know _what shape it was expected to be.

Teatime continued when he saw the look of shock on her face. 'I'm halfway between life and afterlife. I have a lifetimer _and _an afterlifetimer. To truly live I need to destroy _this.' _He waved the hourglass. 'Destroying it will, however, in all probability summon the Afterlife himself.

'But how did you get it here?' Susan was impressed. His strange logic seemed to ring true, although possibly it called insanity first.

He shrugged. 'I just wanted it. Everything is possible if people are just willing to work for it.' For a second Susan thought she had hallucinated the next of his actions. He _winked _at her. 'Do the honours, Susan.'

She understood. She sent the poker through the afterlifetimer without hesitation. After all the worst that could happen was that Teatime would die yet again. As long as it was the poker that struck the final blow, Susan would be satisfied.


	7. Chapter 7

Death sensed...a disturbance.

Something was happening. Something involving Susan, he knew that much. Trouble loved nothing better than a young woman fighting her destiny. He concentrated.

HIM.

Death stalked off to the Hall of Lifetimers. When he got there he found only the remains of the afterlifetimers, and his sword, which he picked up. With a skeletal foot he prodded the shattered smoked glass and dark sand, before sighing like the last gust of wind that had once formed a tempest.

THAT IS IT. I DON'T HAVE TO PUT UP WITH THIS. NOT FROM SOME OBNOXIOUS LITTLE ENTITY TOO INCONSIDERATE TO TURN THE MUSIC DOWN EVEN AT THE LAST ICE AGE. WELL I AM NOT JUST GOING TO LEAVE QUIETLY THIS TIME. HE'S PUSHED ME TOO FAR. IT'S PRACTICALLY BREAKING AND ENTERING. AT LEAST RIPPING TIME AND SPACE APART AND ENTERING.

Death paused in his monologue. He strode out into his garden, where Albert was committing various violent acts on small weeds.

ALBERT.

'Yes master?'

BRING BINKY OUT FOR ME. THEN GO TO THE HALL OF LIFETIMERS. CLEAN UP ALL THE GLASS AND SAND. _ALL _OF IT. I WON'T HAVE IT IN MY DOMAIN. YOU MUST USE JUST A FEW SECONDS OF YOUR REMAINING TIME TO DISPOSE OF IT ON THE DISC SOMEWHERE. IT WON'T MATTER DOWN THERE.

'But master-'

NO BUTS ALBERT. YOU WILL HAVE TIME JUST TO THROW THAT AWAY. MY ADVICE IS NOT TO DAWDLE.

Albert looked mutinous, then remembered whose domain it was. If he was very quick he really could make it with minutes to spare.

'Right you are master.'


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Okay so a long chapter-by my standards. Things get a little bit like Teatime's mind here I'm afraid-gloriously cracked and terribly insane. My imagination got a little out of hand. Hopefully you will like it. So-the Afterlife makes his appearance, Susan gets a little stabby, Teatime is content to watch the entire situation as it is so unusual, Death arrives and the aftermath of one hell of a party is discussed. Oh, and Death makes a fairly cutting comment about the relevance of pokers as weapons for a Death. I have to admit, what with everything else going on Teatime and Susan end up in the background-but this is not the final chapter and the next one will focus more on them (unless my imagination decides to see what it is like to be Teatime again).**

Susan and Teatime were in a massive cavern now. The smashed afterlifetimer was now floating in front of the Afterlife, whilst he contemplated it, seemingly engrossed.

The Afterlife was a very thin young man, with wavy black hair, plump lips and eyes that considered entirely of a ruby red iris. He was dressed in a suit of red silk. He was in fact extremely handsome, in a way that made Teatime's boyish good looks seem like an ice cube floating beside a glacier.

Susan held the poker warily, and she knew that Teatime would have his knife close to hand, able to grasp it quicker than physics technically allowed. Physics had long ago taken a dislike to Teatime though. Apparently physics was frighten of childish psychokillers with an interest in killing forces and entities.

The Afterlife laughed. His laugh had a manic, _edged _quality to it that would have made Susan flinch if she hadn't long ago decided flinching was a particularly useless and irritating action. As she observed the cavern and the Afterlife she thought, _the Blind Ionians have really got this very wrong_.

The Afterlife suddenly appeared right in front of her. Gazing intently at her, he spoke, in a voice entirely different from that of Death, in a voice like sunsets and crescent moons.

'Did you really think that you could first take him', and here he nodded to Teatime, who was watching the scene with great attention, waiting until he could safely decide the best course of action, 'and then destroy his afterlifetimer? The afterlife is nothing to do with death, or his granddaughter. You will first surrender Mr Teatime to me. Then you will leave.'

Susan tried her glare on him. This had no effect on him. So she bought the poker forward fast, into his abdomen. The Afterlife might have been a anthropomorphic personification but he was no Teatime. She felt the poker tear through him. Which was when she realised that she could hardly _kill _the Afterlife, and that she had just done something hideously stupid for Teatime, of all people.

Teatime raised an eyebrow. 'How sweet. You just stabbed the Afterlife for me. I know you're a bit quick with the poker but that was vicious even for you. I'm honoured that should be so defensive of me.' His smile was attempting to eclipse his face.

Susan almost lunged for the assassin as an encore but before she could he had his knife at the Afterlife's throat.

The Afterlife was the first, and in all probability last person ever to laugh when Teatime had a knife to their jugular. The laugh was still edged, still dangerous, still disturbing.

And then the Afterlife clicked his fingers and Teatime had a knife poised to stab an unlucky patch of air and the hole in the red silk that the poker had left was gone.

Susan hated it when an anthropomorphic personification cheated like that. Once again she raised the poker, because it had to _hurt, _didn't it, having a poker pierce your personification?

The Afterlife was watching her with extreme interest. He smirked as he said 'I knew the timers would get you. Deaths are always so _touchy. _Loosen up, my dear Susan. You're not an old skeleton like your grandfather are you? Now there was an anthropomorphic personification with no idea how to enjoy himself.'

This is the point in the narrative in which the old cliché 'speak of the devil' proves true. Only it could be more accurately said 'speak of the death'.

Death appeared between Susan and the Afterlife. He had his sword clasped firmly in a bony hand. The raw energy of mature hatred crackled between Death and the Afterlife.

JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?

'You tell me. It's been a while. Ever since that _really wild_ party to celebrate creation. I see you have a grandchild. And an insane assassin. Who belongs to _me._'

I TOOK HIM BACK. I CAN DO THAT IF I SO CHOOSE. IT WAS IN THE AGREEMENT, BACK WHEN WE SHARED THAT HOUSE. EVERY CENTURY I CAN HAVE ONE SOUL BACK. AND IF WE DISCOUNT MY APPRENTICE I HAVE ONLY CLAIMED THIS ONCE, SINCE THE DAWN OF TIME.

'Are you seriously suggesting we play by the rules? You never did like to think that maybe rules sound better as they break.'

Susan and Teatime were transfixed by the scene in front of them. It is a rare opportunity to see such an argument between anthropomorphic personifications. Susan was amazed. Teatime was just plain interested.

WE ALL HAVE TO OBEY RULES. THOSE AFTERLIFETIMERS. YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE SENT THEM. Death couldn't help himself. I SEE THAT FOR ONCE YOU ARE NOT HOLDING A MASSIVE PARTY. AND YOU'VE REDECORATED.

'Everyone is hung over. Destiny has locked herself in a bathroom somewhere and is refusing to come out. Fate is trying to coax her out. The soul cake duck has passed out on the kitchen floor. He never could hold his drink. Gravity is moaning on about how no one appreciates him. The square root of a minus number is crying in a corner because no one will acknowledge it's existence**.** The party will, of course, start up again sometime soon. But not quite yet. And when I saw that you had claimed a soul I decided it was time I played a little joke on you. Just to amuse myself while everyone sobered up enough to get drunk again. As for the decor I created this as a suitable setting for our reunion.'

Death was amazed. YOU DID ALL THIS, JUST FOR ENTERTAINMENT? MILLENIA HAVE PASSED AND YOU STILL HAVEN'T GROWN UP? Death raised the sword, and then lowered it, admittedly reluctantly. IF I EVER SEE ONE OF YOUR TIMERS AGAIN I SHALL MAKE SURE I GATECRASH YOUR REVELS.

The Afterlife just looked at all of them.

'Oh fine. Spoil my fun. The party will be starting again soon anyway. Just leave and I'll let you keep him.' He gestured at Teatime. 'She takes after you, you know.' He nodded at Susan then disappeared.

Death turned to Susan. He waved the sword in his hand and said, FOR OCCASSIONS LIKE THIS NARRATIVE CAUSALITY REQUIRES A SWORD INSTEAD OF THE SCYTHE. SOMETHING TO DO WITH A SENSE OF THEATRE. NONSENSE REALLY. THOUGH ANYTHING IS BETTER THAN A POKER, I SUPPOSE. WHAT KIND OF SELF-RESPECTING DEATH WIELDS A POKER? Death winked at Susan. BINKY IS OUTSIDE. I THINK WE SHOULD ALL HEAD HOME NOW.

'Come on then Susan.' Teatime was radiating excitement. 'You never did give me a tour around Death's Domain, and I am a guest, after all. Let's go back.'

Susan took the poker with them when they left.

**REVIEW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please? Because I live for feedback. Anyone who wants to add a drunken anthropomorphic personification suffering after the party can put their idea in their review. Go on. You know you want to. Really it's very good fun.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Watch out for a mangled parody of the phrase 'blood is thicker than water.' So-more of Susan and Teatime trying both to be civilised and yet to cause intense irritation and/or pain. **

They were back in Death's Domain. Teatime had not been surprised by Binky's inter-dimensional travelling abilities. Death had a plan of sorts, and was about to implement it. Let the eye of the narrative draw in then, to Death, Susan and Teatime standing in the stable...

Death coughed as he dismounted. SUSAN, WE REALLY HAVE BEEN MOST RUDE TO OUR GUEST-

'He's not a guest! He's...' Susan looked at Teatime before continuing, 'he's a mad assassin you resurrected. I'm not impressed Grandfather. You know that you shouldn't play with the rules of the universe for your own amusement.' Susan noted that Teatime didn't even raise an eyebrow at the 'mad assassin' part. Apparently it was only the word 'murderer' he had a problem with. That and TEAtime.

I DID IT FOR _YOUR _AMUSEMENT SUSAN. STOP ARGUING AND SHOW MR. TEATIME THE GARDENS WOULD YOU? PLEASE? FOR YOUR DEAR OLD GRANDDAD?

Susan sighed. He had to know that it was a rather cheap shot, trying emotional blackmail on her. '_GRANDDAD_'?! He must _really_ want her to give Teatime the guided tour.

Unfortunately she knew that emotional blackmail actually worked on her. There was a part of her, often forgotten but never ignored when it managed to call attention to itself, that still, after all this time, would do anything for her grandfather. Because he was family. Skeletons were stronger than pokers.

Susan swore quietly under her breath. Teatime heard, and now did raise an eyebrow.

'Susan that kind of language is quite unbecoming in a Duchess. I hope you will make an effort to avoid swearing again, else you will risk my displeasure.'

Susan reverted back to her old favourite, the Glare. After years of service and an impeccable record (if you excluded Teatime as an anomaly) it deserved the capital G. Then, in tones of ice and acid she said, calmly, 'The gardens are this way. After you.' She wasn't ever turning her back on him, though whatever he would do behind her back he would, she knew, do with even more pleasure, right in front of her.

'Oh but you're the lady. Besides the host guides the guests, not the other way around. What _did _you learn in school?'

'Not to trust people who bring more bad luck than the broken mirrors they resemble!' She hadn't meant to say it, but before she could shut her mouth the tide of words had surged out.

'Ah.' Teatime was grinning. 'In that case I will, under your direction of course, lead. Under the condition that you put that poker down. I'm afraid pokers cause you to behave in a most impolite manner.'

Susan knew that the last thing she was ever going to do was surrender the poker. It had seen her through her last, fatal encounter with him and she had enough faith in it to judge it capable of a repeat performance.

Teatime left first, with Susan following, but within a few moments they were walking beside each other. Teatime was looking at her curiously.

'Did you ever consider becoming an assassin? A poker is hardly a traditional method of inhumation, but you lent it considerable...elegance.'

'I thought the Guild didn't accept women.'

He shrugged. 'Times are changing. If you applied in person I doubt they would turn you down. Even assassins want to live.'

It was her turn to shrug. 'Deaths aren't supposed to kill.' Susan decided to get her own back for the 'assassins want to live' comment. 'Like how assassins don't kill. Besides I could never take life for money.'

'You took mine.'

'I was provoked. And I didn't get paid.'

'That's even worse! I should have been worth at least a few thousand dollars.'

They rounded a corner in the path. Death's garden had changed.


	10. Chapter 10

There were roses. It was a _rose _garden, full of plump black blooms. Susan felt her jaw drop before her fury overtook her shock.

'What the hells has he done?'

Teatime was glancing around with polite disinterest. 'It's just a rose garden. I suppose it's quite beautiful if you like that kind of thing. The black is a nice touch though.'

Susan had an epiphany. Death was trying to kick start the courting idea with this garden. Rose gardens appeared everywhere in romantic fiction as a setting conducive to anything from proposals to illicit affairs.

As she looked around she realised Death must have put some work into it. He had positioned it so that it overlooked the golden fields of wheat that were the only colour. He had set out neat gravel paths. When she looked closely at the roses each one was perfect and unblemished, with a sweet scent that infused the entire area. She had conclusive proof, however, that he had got the idea from some fanciful book or other when she noticed none of the roses had thorns. Because in airy romantic novels, amongst the details that are omitted (like real life isn't that neat, or the heroine's husband isn't that bad really, or a Countess could never run away with a blacksmith) is the fact that roses have vicious thorns quite capable of ripping your hand (or that of your lover's) to shreds.

Susan sighed. Always it was the small, details that gave Death away. What had he been thinking?

Teatime had noticed the roses' flaw too.

'A rose without a thorn.' He seemed highly amused by it. He plucked one from the great mass that surrounded them and presented it to her, with a slight flourish. 'Perhaps you should have it. After all you are a thorn without a rose.' He was grinning manically. Seeing Susan annoyed was better even than theorizing how to inhume the Soul Cake Duck. She was so delightfully rational and yet so dangerously violent.

Susan felt her grip tighten on the poker, but regained control in time to avoid attempting to stab Teatime with it. Instead she swung it around in an arc that beheaded the rose and left black petals floating in the air.

Teatime laughed and seized her hands before she could pull away.

'How unkind. Really Susan, you could _try _to curb your temper.'

He had somehow managed to end up only inches away from her without either stepping forwards or pulling her closer. His eerily mismatched eyes were gazing into hers with a twinkle that clearly said 'I know how much you're hating this and really it's just too entertaining to let go.' His mouth was twisted into a truly insane and exceedingly childish expression of amusement.

Susan tried to squirm out of his grip, but when that failed to work she stopped fighting, hoping that the boredom of her new reaction would cause Teatime to release her. It didn't. He just pouted.

'I expected better from you. Come on Susan.' Before she could stop him he had snatched the poker from her, holding her hands tightly in one hand and twirling the poker with the other.

Susan was practically glowing with rage-to say she was incandescent was a massive understatement, like calling the moon a pebble. But, despite her best efforts to think of one, no way of getting away from Teatime presented itself. The only possible route was to call him by his name and see what happened. This in itself presented many options. She could say TEAtime again, but then she would probably die _inelegantly. _She could say Teh-ah Tim-eh and it was just possible that he might let her go. Or, as a last resort she could use Jonathan, but the gods only knew how he would react then. Susan didn't care too much. Anything was better than this. He was still twirling the poker.

'Jonathan...'

His face lost its grin. _Ah _thought Susan. _Now I'm going to die. And what for? Not saving the world or in bed at the grand old age of 97. No I'm going to die for calling an assassin by their first name. _And then the normal, instinctive Susan made her voice heard and told her to rip the poker out of his hands RIGHT NOW. So she did.

Teatime was just looking at her. 'Why did you call me that?' He seemed genuinely confused. And, for the first time since Susan had met him, not actually on the verge of some terrifically violent act. Although he wasn't _that _far away from the edge of violence. His permanent air of insanity stuffed with contained death was still there.

'Because it's your name, perhaps?'

'Yes but no one ever uses _my _name. I'm just Teh-ah Tim-eh.'

_That explains it,_ thought Susan. No wonder he developed a complex about being called Teatime if no one called him Jonathan. Mind you it _is _very difficult to call him Jonathan. Jonathan is not the name of someone more cracked than a mirror that's been used as an elephant's trampoline.


	11. Chapter 11

Death was humming to himself. His hum was not the chirpy energetic hum of most people though. It was heavy and sombre, though he was trying to make it sound jolly. And other things ending in olly.

If points could be awarded for trying Death would get a perfect ten. In his study he was sitting at his desk. He was gazing at the woodwork as though it contained the meaning of life (although as this is Death's desk this could be, in fact, the truth), and tapping his finger-bones on its surface.

So...Susan was even now alone with Teatime. Death knew that a vital component of all this 'courting' business was the chance for the courter to spend time alone with the courtee. Death wasn't entirely sure whether it was Teatime or Susan who was the courter. He was aware that traditionally it was the male that courted the female, but he was fairly certain that Susan would never be the one with the least power. Death also knew that somewhere in the whole complicated process roses should be involved, although he could see no practical use for them. On the other hand pokers were definitely _not _considered a common ingredient in successful relationships, despite the fact that he could see many practical uses for them.

Humanity was hard work.

Then there were the actual individuals themselves. Death had realised quite quickly after meeting Teatime (although this happened to be only a few minutes before Teatime was dead) that Teatime and Susan would make a very good couple for some very logical reasons. They were both outcasts. They both had strange powers. Teatime would accept and even _enjoy _Susan's less mundane genetic traits. He also enjoyed challenges and puzzles and Susan was definitely both of those. Teatime would be able to protect Susan from _anyone_. The Auditors of Reality wouldn't stand a chance.

There were more reasons, Death realised, reasons connected to hormones and glands that he neither possessed nor understand. But, if he was honest, he had another motive.

He had seen the way humans acted. He had millennia of experience, in fact. And, having seen it so often he had decided he wanted to try revenge. Just to see what all the fuss was about. That poker could have really _hurt _if he hadn't been watching Susan carefully. He had always known how short her temper was. He had found, through his little experiment, that, in the right conditions, and with no _actually _being killed it was really quite fun. And the additional result was that Susan and Teatime were enjoying themselves. Quite why Death chose to believe that they were enjoying themselves is a mystery. Although it was true. It was just that mostly they were enjoying themselves because they could contemplate various interesting ways of either annoying or killing each other. And then try to put them into practice.


	12. Chapter 12

Susan and Teatime had come in from the gardens. They took with them a watchful, wary atmosphere, as each watched the other with caution. Actually Susan was watching Teatime with caution. Teatime was watching Susan with undisguised interest and amusement.

They were sitting in Death's living room (quite why Death should need a _living _room is beside the point). It was black, with complimentary shades of black. And a picture hanging over the (unlit) fireplace of a few unbearably cute kittens. Susan would have cheerfully taught them to be less cute (life wasn't supposed to encounter such twee sweetness, she was sure), with the aid of the poker, but her grandfather REALLY liked cats. They were also drinking coffee. Death is just a coffee person, and this was a tendency his granddaughter didn't mind inheriting.

'Are you nervous Susan?' Teatime's voice sounded almost playful.

Her gaze snapped away from the kittens and focused on Teatime instead. Amazingly this was preferable. 'Why should I be nervous? You're _properly_ alive now your afterlifetimer's been destroyed. Which means that I can _properly _kill you again.' She smiled nastily, trying to unnerve the assassin.

'Well...I'm not so easy to kill, am I? And I can tell you're nervous really. So nervous you almost tried to stir your coffee with the poker. Which you still haven't let go of, by the way. Couldn't you drop it, just for me?'

Her eyes narrowed. Trust Teatime to notice that tiny detail. It had only been for a second, when she hadn't been concentrating. Teatime's smile widened. He loved it when she got angry. When she was angry she tried all sorts of _fun _things, normally involving intended bodily harm to his person.

Whilst Teatime was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, scary, no one else had ever actually even tried to hurt him. This was mainly because he either killed them before the thought could cross their mind or because he was so terrifying as to scare their mind away from daring to think such an idea, in case the punishment for such a thought involved said mind losing all contact with its body. Only Susan was so angry, or desperate, or confident, as to try to hurt him. It was delightful.

'Grandfather only resurrected you so that we could court!'Susan only said it because she wanted to throw Teatime off his guard. Immediately she regretted it. She tried to reassert herself. 'I mean what a ridiculous idea.'

'Why is it so worthy of ridicule, Susan? After all, I'm sure I'm _much _more exciting than Imp.'

Susan didn't bother asking how he knew about Imp. It would be too degrading to ask, and it was hardly beyond Teatime's odd skills to know about that. Instead she put her energies into arguing.

'Because _you _are an insane _murderer,' _she noted, with glee, his flinch as she said that, 'and you tried to _kill _me not to mention the children and Grandfather. And you actually _like _causing pain. You don't understand people at all. The only thing you're capable of loving is your _knife._' YOU ARE NOT NORMAL.

The Voice crept in at the end. Susan realised she was _panting _slightly with the effort of trying to explain to that cherubic face why he was JUST WRONG.

Teatime looked puzzled. 'Who wants normality? Everyone has that. People like _us,' _and he noted her shudder as he said 'us', 'are so much better than ordinary. We're extraordinary. Incidentally I didn't murder, I _inhumed, _and I would be intensely grateful if you could try to remember that.' He raised an eyebrow. 'As for only loving my knife...Susan that sounded like a challenge. I _like _challenges. I believe I could love anyone.' Susan was about to snort with derision when he continued, 'if they were like you.'

He leant forward and kissed her, very gently. The romance of the moment was only slightly spoiled when Susan forgot which hand was which and threw coffee at him instead of stabbing him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Just wanted to say thank you to She Who Shines and coffee-mill, for all the reviews. This is the end, I'm afraid. I shall miss writing 'Pokers, Swords and Lifetimers' ALOT. I guess that at some point I might write a sequel, especially if I get requests. **

Teatime had disappeared. He was very good at that. One second he was right in front of you, the next he was in exactly the same position but now had something to kill you with to hand. Susan had no idea where he had gone, which was just as well for him. She was angrier than she had ever been, all because of that _illogical _kiss. In hindsight, she realised, it had been a bad idea to question Teatime's ability to love anything but his knife. She was angry because he had done it. She was angry because she hadn't managed to hurt him for doing it. She was angry because after all, and despite herself, after a while she hadn't _wanted _to inflict pain on him for doing it. _I must be ill _she thought, _otherwise I wouldn't be thinking like this. NEVER, EVER In a sane frame of mind would I actually care about THAT._

She sighed and absentmindedly contemplated destroying the kitten picture. But that would upset Death. A LOT. Susan had never quite figured out why he liked cats. He just did. It was in this bad tempered state of angry reflection that Teatime found her in. He just strolled in, as though he hadn't just left in a flash a few minutes ago. Susan turned to face him. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the poker. She threw it at him, a totally useless action that resulted in him plucking it from the air.

'Anything the matter, Susan? I can't imagine you would act so foolishly under normal conditions. You're not even _thinking. _Just trying, rather desperately I have to say, to cause me bodily harm. When we could be having such _fun._'

Susan's voice was acidic enough to burn through steel. It could not, however, harm Teatime's childish smile. 'Is that what you think? Perhaps we _could _have fun, but only if you would consent to stop defying physics and just _die _like you know you should. I mean as an assassin you should know how to deal with death.'

Teatime was standing only inches away now, so that Susan had no choice but to stare into his asymmetrical eyes. 'That's what I'm trying to do right now. And you are proving to be _quite _the education, Susan. In fact-'

Albert walked in at this point. Both Susan and Teatime had a habit of talking quietly when angry or excited, respectively, and so he hadn't heard them until he walked in. He froze as they both turned to him. Albert knew Susan wouldn't kill him, though Teatime might try inhumation. He backed out fast, mumbling, 'just came to tidy the coffee things, didn't know...'

Teatime was delighted to realise that Susan had blushed slightly. The scar on her cheek was visible.

'Ah...my dear predictable Susan do you really care what some servant thinks?'

Susan wanted to kill him. But she also wanted to kiss him again. And the poker was lying on the other side of the room. And Teatime was right in front of her. And then she wouldn't be '_predictable'. _He'd be laughing on the other side of his face _then..._

She leant forward, but, laughing Teatime span away from her.

'Do you care for me now?' His eyes were twinkling.

Susan was about to make some cunning or witty remark that would hopefully be psychologically damaging to Teatime, but then he said, 'because I care for you, you see. I bought this for you.'

He presented her with one of the black roses. She took it, then kissed him.

The moral of the story is that Death always knows best. He sat smugly in his study, aware from the lack of noise, of the sound of screaming and pokers clattering to the floor, that Teatime and Susan were at last acting as though they were in a romance novel.


End file.
